


Forget

by MistressDragonFlame



Series: Memory [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Amnesia, F/M, Loss, Mistakes can't always be fixed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-25
Updated: 2018-06-25
Packaged: 2019-05-28 11:15:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15047645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MistressDragonFlame/pseuds/MistressDragonFlame
Summary: Cole use to be so much better at this, before. He could find the pain, the hurt, and it would go away and people would be better. He tried to make her forget, but she forgot.She forgot.





	Forget

**Author's Note:**

> Rating – T  
> Pairings – Solas/Lavellan  
> Author – Mistress DragonFlame.  
> Beta – bdafic  
> Notes – This is an ambiguous-class Lavallen. Technically post-trespasser, but takes different steps. This is my first story posted to AO3; I have an account on FFnet under the same name. This story has NOT been cross-posted.

Cole opened his eyes, and his vision swam. His head hurt— _his head hurt_ , it never used to do that—and his mouth felt dry and yet sticky. Was it supposed to be sticky?  
  
His eyesight settled, and he raised his aching head up to look around. He was on the floor, bound with his wrists behind his back, in a medium sized room well lit by the sun streaming in through the high windows. It was elegant, painted in bright colors in shapes and meaning that Cole could still yet feel the dedication and inspiration used to create such works, despite it being undoubtedly millennia old. But there were cracks, cracks along the wall and the windows, reflecting distorted images upon the dusty ground, a story lost in time.

There were two people in the room, bodies clad in striking gold as they watched him watch them. They were old, so old and tired, faces hard and expressionless, and yet, and yet— “ _He will understand,_ ” He croaked in a language he did not know, compelled to soothe even the minor hurt, the fear, in the guard by the door, “ _You tried your best to find her. But she wasn’t there, never was there. You didn’t want to find her, but it doesn’t matter._ ”

Cole smiled at the still expressionless guard, buoyed by the slight feel of relief he had been able to comfort from him. He wriggled a bit on the floor, rolling to his stomach to try and sit up. The guards didn’t move to assist—they had their orders, and he understood—but eventually he was able to sit back on his heels. He missed his hat, it was large brimmed and allowed him to watch people without causing stress by his staring. He wondered where it had gone to. Was it at the location he had been taken from? He hoped Marydan retrieved it, if so.

His head still hurt, but it was better than before. His hands were cold, a little numb. His knives were gone, even the ones he had hidden in his boot. It was okay. It made the guards feel more calm if he was unarmed, and he knew that he wouldn’t be harmed in turn from them.

He waited in silence, lightly swaying from his spot on the floor. He occasionally licked his dry lips—his mouth was still sticky—but otherwise the room was perfectly silent save their breathing. “I’m fine,” He told the other silent guard at one point, “You’d have to abandon your post. I don’t need to drink, much.”

He didn’t remember how he got here, or knew where he was. It felt almost like the Fade, but faded, failing, veiled behind a smothering fog. He wondered if he was in an in between place, like those Crossroads from the Winter Palace. Only the Crossroads didn’t seem to like him much, the gray sky and broken floor, a tickle in the back of his throat that told him he was unwelcome there. Sera had fit there, and it had scared her that she fit and saw different than the others, that her blood was old, and he couldn’t soothe that for her. It just was.

He lifted his head as the door opened, “Hello.”

“Cole,” Solas greeted. He was dressed far differently than the last time they had been together, years ago, and it fit him better. Like he had removed a costume rather than put a new one on. It suited him, wrapping him in rich trappings that went to his nobility rather than his vanity, but flattered all the same.

“Thank you,” Solas gave a small, but genuine smile with the gratitude.

“Oh, I was rambling. Sorry,” He shuffled on the floor, sitting cross legged and bringing his hands to clasp in his lap. The guards tensed when they realized he had freed himself, and he smiled bashfully at them. His hands were numb; it was unpleasant to leave them bound.

“I’m surprised you kept them on this long,” Solas commented, settling also on the floor in front of him, without apparent care to the dust there. He looked briefly to the guards, who bowed and departed without comment.

“It made them feel safer,” He murmured, “They already feel so unsafe in this world, wakened, weakened, wraiths of what once was.”

“I see you still have much of your talents.”

“It’s lesser now,” Cole dropped his gaze when he realized he had probably been staring. He made himself blink–he had been blinking recently, hadn’t he? “Little pricks of light, like diamonds in mud, muddled, mixed, waiting to be plucked up and polished—but not the ease of picking out the stars from the night sky.”

The man known as Fen’Harel let the statement sit, before he cocked his head slightly. “Do you know why I had you brought here, Cole?”

He glanced up, at the muted expression on Solas’ face. “You brought me here, because you think I will be the most honest. Your spies couldn’t get close enough, searching, seeking, seizing, never a hand on the truth. The others who you think would know—like Dorian for being her favorite, Rainier for being her endlessly loyal, steadfast rock, Sera for the ease of which she could ferret out any information—they hate you, and would sooner die than betray her. They all are very angry with you.” He dropped his gaze again, and wished for his hat. “You want me to tell you where your _Vhenan_ is.”

Solas nodded, a small movement of his chin that he saw only from the corner of his eye, “She wasn’t at the Exalted Council. Cassandra acted in her stead, has been for a while. I had thought she would at least appear now, with the fate of her Inquisition at hand.”

He didn’t reply immediately, instead drawing his knees up so he could wrap an arm around them. Solas let the pause continue for a bit, before adding, “I also cannot seem to locate her in the fade.”

Cole turned somewhat away at the next pause, looking up at him through his fringe of lank blond hair. “She won’t appear, couldn’t, can’t. Inquisitor Lavellan is gone.”

Solas’s neutral expression didn’t really change, he just closed his eyes and tilted his head back slightly as he took a breath. But Cole felt the pain lace through the other, white hot and startling in its intensity.

“I see.”

The pain and silence filled the room, echoing between them. Against his own nature, he let it stew as he trailed small designs into the dust on the floor. He was human enough to feel slightly vindictive about it; Solas had caused enough pain and heartache to deserve to have some reflected back upon him.

“How did…” Solas paused, his voice thick. He cleared his throat and continued on, “How did she die?”

He brought is pale blue eyes to watch his once friends’ face, and debated with himself before he finally spoke. “She isn’t dead.”

It was the largest emotional display yet. Solas bent sharply at the waist, hands clenching white against his thighs as he heaved a shuddering breath. The relief was powerful enough that Cole stumbled, overwhelmed, gasping as words spilled from him involuntarily. “The hurt was growing like a cancer, consuming, controlling, swallowing your heart as you again and again couldn’t find your heart. _She is gone, she is gone_ , _it was as you feared_ , but then she isn’t and it’s so much more, moving, momentous, and yet she is still missing.”

Solas didn’t reply, instead he took the time to slowly unbend, calm his breathing, and wipe the tears from his face. Eventually he looked back towards the former spirit with an expression of dawning comprehension. He stared back sullenly; let him see, let him see that he had _intentionally_ misled with his words. See that _he_ was very angry with him, too. “That was unnecessarily cruel, Cole.”

Cole thought about the statue, frozen in a perfect mimicry of her life. Blade raised, the tight curl of hint of a snarl on her pristine features, as the pain of betrayal, fear, and anger still yet echoed in the ivory marble of her once ebony flesh. “So was killing Vivienne.” He growled back, remembering her smile and her dedication and her surprising depth of love, and that now it was gone.

“I took no pleasure in her death,” Solas said firmly, his face now more guarded than it had been since entering, despite the remnants of tears still visible. “I would not have harmed her, had she left me a choice.”

He said nothing to that, dropping his unblinking stare back to the dirty, cracked floor. He was still spirit enough to feel the sorrow, the regret; but he was human enough to resent him, regardless.

He didn’t see it, but he heard the man take a deep, calming breath before he spoke again. “I need to find the Inquisitor.”

“I told you, she is gone.”

“Cole,” Solas spoke again, pleading creeping into his voice. “This is important. I wouldn’t ask, otherwise.”

But even feeling the sorrow and remorse and hurt hidden in plain sight in the words— _my fault, my mark, it’s always my fault—_ he shook his head rapidly, his hair flopping in his eyes. “The _Inquisitor_ is gone.”

“Where...” Solas began, then hesitated. “Where is my _Vhenan_?”

“Your _Vhenan_ is gone, too.” He muttered into his knees, hands worrying at a hangnail. It tore, bloody and stinging.

Silence fell between them again, sitting on the dusty, forgotten floor. A swallow, audible only due to the stillness, “Where is Lavellan?”

“You left,” Cole began, in a conversation jump few could follow. “You left her bare-faced, shamed. The last remnant of her clan, her home, given in love and trust, but you left her anyway. Sera had laughed, called her stupid. Rainier didn’t recognize her. The tavern went silent as she arrived. She didn’t understand, and it hurt, and she had nothing to fall on when the old Magister fell.” He swayed, hands fisted on the floor. He glanced up, and realized that he couldn’t feel Solas’ emotions any longer; even the hurt was hidden. It made him sad to be so cut off, despite his anger at the god.

“She tried. She tried to harden her heart, but it’s edge only seemed to cut _her_. She was so bright, bright like the sun, but it grew dark and darker, dank with dread and dreams, like the moons swallowing the sky until it was black as night, the mark a burning coal in the quiet.”

He rolled to his feet, crouching on his heels, agitatedly rocking his weight from foot to foot as he stared at the floor. He wished again for his hat.

“The others didn’t understand, they brought her gifts and kind words and told her you were not worthy of her, telling her _it will get better, you can find someone else, he is not worth your tears, my dear_.” He said, mimicking the accent of each companion in turn, “They couldn’t understand the bonds an elf makes to their lover.”

“We were not bonded,” Solas cut in sharply.

Cole responded with bitterness, angry that Solas didn’t know—didn’t _accept—_ what had occurred. “Words that aren’t spoken still are meant. A kiss binds as surely as touch. You may not have asked, but she gave, and you called her _Vhenan_.”

The former spirit watched as, again, Solas closed his eyes and tilted his head back. He could only assume the pain and regret, because the reflective emotions were still hidden away. He made himself blink when he realized he hadn’t in a while.

“Where is she?” Solas reiterated, his voice even. He didn’t change his position otherwise. “I know you have more to offer than my own regrets.”

“She knew she was needed—Inquisitor, Herald, helping the hurt—but her own hurt did not diminish, dwindle, disappear under duty and diligence. She knew, _she knew_ she had to let go, but she couldn’t.”

He jumped to his feet and paced, his movements jerky. He was angry with Solas, yes, could no longer trust him, yes, which hurt. But this part was just as much his fault as _his_. He struggled to continue to answer, and stuck his bleeding finger in his mouth.

“Cole…” The voice held a hint of warning, and it made him feel uneasy to hear it directed to himself; not because of the threat, but of the lost connection they had. It had been so much simpler before there was this underlying tension between them, of being on the opposite sides of a war neither wanted. He missed his friend, and a wordless whine came unbidden from his throat.

“She asked for my help,” he said helplessly, twisting his fingers in his own hands. “She wanted to forget, so she wouldn’t be haunted any more. So she could fit into her role— _dock the ears to match the face, it doesn’t matter anymore—_ and she asked _me_ to _help_. I wanted to help, remove the hurt, but things are more difficult now. Her pain was tangled, twisted, twined around like delicate thread tousled, tumbled by the Hissing Wastes.”

Suddenly, he crouched, ceasing his pacing as he folded into himself, arms wrapped around his stomach and tightly gripping the edge of his blouse. “I tried to make her forget the hurt, but it was too much, too tangled, built upon bones upon bones like _Tarasyl’an Te’las_. I–I pulled the thread, but it _all_ came down and she _forgot_.” He whimpered, eyes clenched as he remembered, “She has lost herself.”

Cole didn’t remember how Solas came to be atop of him, hands clenched forcefully in his tunic. He was pinned, flat on his back on the dirty floor. He didn’t struggle, just bared his throat to the wolf. “ _Mahnas ara’lath?!_ ” Fen’Harel growled, his voice dark and heavy and so full of anger and power. A hand moved itself to his neck, firm in its pressure and threat.

“She couldn’t remember anymore,” he babbled as if his life wasn’t hanging by a thread, eyes tightly shut, “She didn’t know where she was, what had happened, who any of us were. She couldn’t remember what had happened to her clan, or the conclave, or after. Every day, she awoke, and it was gone, removed, reset, everything we tried to tell her. Stressed, stricken, scared, _who are these—_ ” He had to stop as his breathing was cut off, the hand clamping down. His hands came up automatically, grabbing at the arm that pinned his neck.

“ ** _Mahnas_ ** _ara’lath?!_ ” Solas growled again, deep enough to vibrate through Cole’s own chest. The hand that gripped his neck shook him, and didn’t relent in its grip. His feet kicked futilely, in no position to truly be effective. He had never been strangled before, and it wasn’t a pleasant experience.

Just as suddenly as it started, the hand released its pressure, and he sucked down a deep lungful of air. He immediately started coughing–another first, unpleasant experience–and the hand on his throat moved to his jaw, pushing it to the side to allow him to expel his spittle. “ _Ir abelas_ ,” Fen’Harel growled, no less dark than before. He took a deep breath, and explained further, “The mark on her hand–it was only slowed before, not stopped. She will **_die_ ** if it is not dealt with, and it will happen soon. _Tell me where she is!_ ”

“Hidden,” He croaked, as soon as he had the breath. His eyes watered and were sore; was that normal? “We had to hide her; it would only endanger her if others new she had lost herself. It always frightened her that that so many humans recognized her, _terror, taken, trapped, it never bodes well when the humans notice._ ”

“ _Where,_ Cole?!”

“An aravel near the waking sea, built with a broken wheel in a valley between two lonely mountains,” The hand removed itself from his neck, and he took a deep breath, opening his watery blue eyes to peer up at the elvhen. “Cullen’s best team to ensure she is protected, Leliana’s favorite scout to ensure she always had supplies and stayed where we placed her, Josephine’s contracts to ensure the land was never traveled. _No cities, no highways, and certainly no ruins._ ” He adopted the accent of the Antivan.

“Ruins?”

“They’re very angry with you, too.”

Solas gave what could have been a sob, a laugh, or a choked breath, as his face twisted. He didn’t so much as collapse, as seem to lose the strength keeping his torso from bowing down. Cole brought his arms up and around the man, an awkward position though it was, humming a tune that hadn’t been sung in millennia. He had to clear his throat a couple times, as the notes kept sticking where the bruise was forming.

“ _Ir abelas_ ,” Solas said again as he cleared his throat for the third time, this time with a swell of matching remorse. He lifted himself off, and assisted the former spirit to sit up as well. He reached with the same hand to heal away the hurt.

“She won’t remember you, trust you, love you.” He stated, sighing with relief from the discomfort and the return of his companion’s emotions, “She believes she is on her way to the Conclave to spy, waylaid temporarily. _Don’t be seen, the Templars are out there, the mages are no better._ ” He said, a perfect mimicry of her distinctly Dalish intonation. He shrugged a bit, before adding, “She is scared of me.”

Solas touched his face after he finished healing, and briefly their foreheads together. “I will fix this. It’s not your fault, you couldn’t have known.”

Despite himself, he was comforted. “You can save her, and yourself; you don’t have to be alone.”

But Solas did not respond to the remark, though he felt a painful echo of longing in his chest, “I have to go now, time is of the essence. _Dareth Shiral_ , Cole.” He stood, then left through the door.

The door remained open long enough that the two guards came back in. One of them was carrying a glass of water.

“Thank you,” He responded genuinely as it was handed to him. He took a small sip, and set it down, content with amount. “Oh,” he said, as the guard took on a somewhat pained expression, “You want me to drink it all so the drug will take effect, and I can be taken from here.” He picked it back up and neatly finished the glass.

They waited in silence until his vision swam again, his mouth once again oddly sticky, and he closed his eyes.

**XXXXX**

Elvhen; most taken from in-game, but FenxShiral is of course the deity for the rest.

 _Fen’Harel_ : Dread Wolf.  
_Vhenan_ : My heart, more powerful than ‘my love.’  
_Tarasyl’an Te’las:_ Place where the sky was held back; Skyhold.  
_Mahnas ara’lath_ :  (Where)(-is) (my-)(love). I have bastardized this one, so it may not be completely accurate.  
_Ir abelas_ : I’m sorry, formal.  
_Aravel_ : a land ship the Dalish use to move around and live in, towed/led by halla.  
_Dareth Shiral_ : Safe journeys.


End file.
